


leave the house key

by enredo



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4522887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enredo/pseuds/enredo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes them long enough to figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His roommate looks nice. He looks _nice,_ as in he’s pretty nice looking, but he also looks nice, as in a helpful, laid back kind of guy. James thanks god under his breath. He had no idea what to expect when he decided to share an apartment with a stranger in a foreign country, but they were both short on money and time to find a place to live, so the whole deal was done in one day, and they moved on the second. He got lucky.

“I speak a little Portuguese,” James says, and Marcelo smiles, and looks gorgeous while doing so. It’s unfair. “You’ll speak even better in a few months, trust me. It’ll be easy to pick up on it.”

The apartment is nice. It’s small, but cozy, and two blocks away from the beach. Marcelo explained that apartments next to the beach in Rio were expensive, but he had a friend that hooked him up with this one, and all he had to do was find someone to share the rent with.

James doesn’t really feel like getting his stuff out of boxes and into shelves, so he changes out of his jeans into shorts, and finds Marcelo in the kitchen.

“I’m going to the beach,” He says, because he feels excited and childish, but doesn’t care. Marcelo smiles, puts back a bottle of juice in the fridge. “Let me change, too.” Marcelo says, even though James didn’t expect him to come with, and Marcelo doesn’t seem to care that it’s Monday morning, either.

James likes him.

-

They leave together in the morning, but get separated as soon as they get on Campus. Marcelo is on his third semester of Chemistry, so he’s in a totally different part of campus, while James is on his first semester of Communication. It’s hard to understand things, the Brazilian Portuguese completely different from the one he was used to in Portugal, and he’s still too shy to ask the teacher to slow down a bit so he can understand.

The guy besides him notices, though.

“Hey, what’s up?” The guy asks. He’s blond, hair styled wildly, red flashy glasses that James is not sure he really needs, white shirt contrasting with brown skin, pants that look more like they belong in a football player’s wardrobe.

“És, uh – a little hard to understand.” He replies, Portuguese and Spanish words mixing themselves in his mind. The boy smiles, a flash of comprehension in his face.

“Oh, you’re an exchange student.” He says, and that James understands. ”I’m Neymar. I’ll help you, I speak a bit of Spanish.”

James nods, thankful. Later, he finds out Neymar’s idea of speaking Spanish is saying Portuguese words with a different intonation. He laughs, but doesn’t mind, they end up understanding each other.

-

Marcelo’s waiting for him when his classes end, and he watches as Neymar’s eyes light up and he goes straight to Marcelo, enveloping him in a hug as Marcelo laughs into his ear. James looks between them.

“What’s the special occasion, come to see if I’m doing well on my first day?” Neymar asks Marcelo, who shakes his head.

“Not really,” Marcelo says, and Neymar pretends to look hurt. “We’re going to lunch. James is my roommate.”

“Oh, he’s your roommate?” Neymar asks, clearly looking please. “We’re bros now, aren’t we, James? I’m finally using my Spanish skills to talk to someone, since you never indulge me.”

“That’s because you can’t really speak Spanish,” Marcelo laughs, looking at James for backup. James nods guiltily. “You really can’t.”

They listen to Neymar whining about how yes, he can speak Spanish the whole way to the restaurant.

-

As weeks go by, most of Marcelo’s friends become James’ friends, too. There’s David, who’s twice as loud as Marcelo; Lucas, who’s shy and quiet but friendly; Danilo and Casemiro, who share an apartment next to them and come over every Friday to order pizza and play videogames, and then there’s Cristiano, Marcelo’s best friend.

He doesn’t meet Cristiano right away, not before he spends two weeks seeing Marcelo talk with him on the phone. He’s napping on the living room couch, because the weather is suffocating, and he doesn’t feel like studying for his Theory of Communication test. The doorbell rings once, twice before he wakes up, sweat sticking uncomfortably to his bare chest, his whole body heavy from heat and slumber.

He doesn’t bother to put on a shirt, figuring it’s probably Lucas or Casemiro, who are both Marcelo’s freshmen, looking for help in a subject. But the person on the other side of the door doesn’t look like either of them at all. For once, he’s taller; he’s very, very tall. His hair is styled to what James can only describe as perfection, and he’s looking at James amusedly.

“You’re James, right?” He asks, and James nods dumbly. “I’m Cristiano, Marcelo’s friend. Surely he’s told you I was coming over?” His accent is definitely Portuguese, James recognizes.

James shakes his head, and Cristiano must think he’s fucking damaged, because apparently he can’t properly answer stupidly good looking guys. “Uh, sorry. Marcelo’s not—He’ll be back in a moment, he’s gone grocery shopping. Come in.”

Marcelo saves him from the awkward, coming through the door a minute after Cristiano arrives. He looks at James and Cristiano sitting on the couch, smiles at both of them, saying ‘Wait here’, before going to the kitchen. James shrugs at Cristiano, then lays back on the couch in front of the window, closing his eyes and hoping for some wind to come through. Marcelo is back in a minute, sitting between Cristiano and him, and James feels something ice cold touch his chest and flinches.

“What—What’s wrong with you?” He says, and opens his eyes to Marcelo laughing, Cristiano too.

“I brought you this, show off. Are you trying to seduce Cristiano?” He says, shoving a tub of ice cream into his hands, and one out of the two spoons he brought with him. James blushes.

“I hate you,” He says, but digs into the chocolate chip ice cream anyway. It melts into his mouth, and he sort of moans unashamedly because, God, doesn’t it taste like the best thing he’s ever eaten. “Ok, maybe I don’t hate you that much.”

He turns his attention back to Marcelo, who’s looking at him with an expression between baffled and something else James can’t pin-point.

“I can’t believe you.” Marcelo says, and James sees his Adam apple bob up and down as he swallows. Cristiano’s watching.

“How do you live like this?” He asks, and they’re both looking at James as Marcelo shakes his head. “I don’t know, man.”

James pretends he doesn’t understand, tries not to blush furiously, because he knows it’ll show in his chest, neck and cheeks. They turn the TV on and watch the last Madrid derby on DVR.

-

“I’ve made dinner,” James says as he peaks into Marcelo’s room. His roommate is sitting on the floor, sheets of paper and books scattered all around him. He looks exhausted, wild hair pushed back and out of his face by a headband, and James has the urge to hug him; or worse.

“ _You_ cooked?” He asks, smile breaking into his face despite his clear exhaustion.

“I didn’t say that. I heated up frozen Lasagna.” He says, smiling sheepishly at Marcelo.

“Sounds good enough to me.”

They eat in silence on the kitchen, not even bothering to get separate plates; they just dig into the paper box with two forks. It’s a comfortable kind of silence, though. Marcelo is loud and playful and always happy, but he has his moments of quietness that James is the only one to ever be around for, considering they’re together most of their day. When they’re done, James throws away the paper box, and grabs Marcelo by the hand before he can even think of going back to his room.

“Come on, _Jamesito_ , you know I need to study.” Marcelo half whines.

“You’ve been locked up for hours, that’s not healthy, especially for you,” He says, tugging at Marcelo’s hand, who’s resolution, he sees, is already breaking. James knows he only has to push a little.

“You know what’s not healthy? Failing this subject.”

“Marcelo, you’re probably not even absorbing what you’re studying anymore. You need to rest a bit, come on. Come watch TV with me.”  Marcelo looks at his room’s door for a second, then back at James, and James grins because yes, he’s won.

Marcelo lets himself be dragged towards the too small couch, not at all fit for two grown men, but none of them seem to care. He lets James pull and push at him as he wants, until he seems pleased with the arrangement on the couch, and pulls Marcelo to lay back against his chest. Marcelo doesn’t complain, instead just relaxes against him, lets James pet his hair.

“This is unfair, I really need to get up and study.” Marcelo mumbles.

“I’m trying to help you here,” James says close to his ear.

“If I fail, it’s your fault.” He says, but it’s soft and tired and already sleepy, and James snorts.

“You’re not gonna fail. You’re the smartest person I know.” He says, and can see Marcelo smiling, but he doesn’t answer anything.

It doesn’t take five minutes until Marcelo’s breath evens, and he’s asleep against his chest. 

-

“All I’m saying,” Neymar says as they walk out of class, heading to Neymar’s house to work on the article they both need to write. “Is that it’s been four months. I expected you to be dating already.”

“That’s not even – It’s not like that.”

“Oh it is pretty much like that,” Neymar rolls his eyes. “Dude, seriously, you’re – Have you seen the two of you? It’s disgusting. I mean, Marce and I are pretty touchy, too, but it’s nothing compared to this.” He says as he makes wild gestures towards James.

“We’re roommates, Ney,” It’s James’ turn to roll his eyes. “It’s normal that we’re a little bit closer.”

“A little?” Neymar sounds indignant. “Seriously? Ugh, fine. Fine, whatever. I can’t believe you’re more interested in Cristiano than Marcelo, with all that hair gel and… everything.”

James gapes at him. “I’m not -- What the fuck, that’s not true! I’m not interested in Cristiano.”

“I mean, whatever, Cristiano has that European supermodel thing, but I don’t get it. If Marcelo looked at me the way he looks at you, I wouldn’t be looking at Cristiano. I’d look back.”

“I’m not. Stop, I’m not interested in Cristiano. You’re just saying that because you hate him.” James wants to punch him, which is not unusual when it comes to Neymar, but still. He’s blushing, too, and he hates it, because what the hell, Marcelo doesn’t look at him in a certain way.

“So you’re into Marcelo?”

James stops. Neymar grins.

“I hate you.”

“Sure.” Neymar shrugs.

-

They’re at some fancy club, god knows how Neymar managed to get them in the VIP area, but there they found themselves in a Saturday night. The music vibrates under James’ feet, and it’s nice, it’s been months since he’s been clubbing. He’s sitting between Lucas and Danilo; the latter challenging the former to down more tequila _, ‘come on, loosen up’_ , while Marcelo laughs from across the table. His eyes catch James’, and his laughter turns into a soft smile, and James smiles back. It’s stupid, for no reason at all, but it makes James’ feel warm inside from more than the two Caipirinhas he’s already drank.

“That’s my song, come on, let’s dance!” Neymar shouts, breaking the moment, and tugging at the first person he finds, who happens to be Cristiano. Cristiano raises a perfect eyebrow at him, because it’s sort of known they hate each other. But Neymar is clearly drunk, while Cristiano isn’t, and just shrugs while dragging Cristiano to the dance floor. Cristiano pretends to be annoyed, James sees right through him.

“Come on,” Marcelo says suddenly by his side, and fuck it, James thinks. Why not.

They’re dancing at an arm’s length at first, laughing at Cristiano’s poor attempts at doing so. The first song passes in a blur, and James feels hot and sweaty and good, very good, his body buzzing with alcohol and something else. He moves his hips and closes his eyes, feels the music through him and he’s relaxed.

“I can’t believe you,” He hears whispered in his ear before he feels it, Marcelo’s chest pressed against his back, moving to the rhythm of the song. James turns his head back, grinning, trying to whisper back in Marcelo’s ear but ends up doing so against his cheek. “You keep saying that.”

Marcelo laughs, and James feels it more than he hears. “Wonder why.”

He leans back, feels Marcelo’s hands come up to rest on his hips, thumbs touching the bit of exposed skin under James’ shirt. James moves with more purpose, and he wants to blame it on the alcohol, but he knows that’s not all. They’re not actually dancing anymore as much as they’re grinding now, and James can feel Marcelo’s hot breath against his neck. They stay like that for a while, James doesn’t know, his sense of time is kind of confusing when he’s drunk.

And then, Marcelo’s pulling away, and James turns around, grabs his arm and pulls him in because _no_ , he wants to say; _come back, don’t leave yet._

“I think I’ve had too much to drink,” He says, and smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m gonna sit down a bit.”

James nods, even though he knows Marcelo had only one beer.

-

He dances and drinks, because whatever, it doesn’t really matter, it doesn’t. You dance, and you grind on your friends and strangers because you’re drunk, it’s normal, he’s been through this before. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

When he goes back to the table, Marcelo is there, laughing, sitting across Cristiano and someone else James doesn’t know.

“Hey,” Marcelo says, and James nods. It feels weird. “This is Kaka, he’s a friend of ours.”

James shakes his hand, and the guy looks a bit awkward, older than all of them, but he seems nice, even if a bit out of place. “Nice to meet you, James. Marcelo talks about you all the time.”

“You too,” He says, and then, “I hope he doesn’t complain too much.”

“There’s not much complaining, no.” Kaka laughs. Cristiano snorts, elbows Kaka lightly. Kaka turns to him, smiling, and James thinks, oh. He notices they’re sitting too close and touching too much, and he just _knows_. He sits beside Marcelo, and Kaka and Cris seem to get lost in their own little world, laughing and whispering.

“Are they –?” James asks, making sure they don’t listen. It’s not like they’re paying attention, anyway.

“Kind of.” Marcelo laughs. James leaves it at that, and suddenly there’s silence. This time, it’s weird, if feels awkward and wrong in a way things with Marcelo never are, never should be.

“I’m sorry.” James says, because he needs to do something, needs to fix it, even if he doesn’t know what’s wrong. Marcelo seems confused.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know –” James says. “I’m drunk. I don’t know.”

“You’re dumb.” Marcelo laughs, and wraps an arm around him. James tucks his face into the crook of his neck, their bodies pressed side to side. James closes his eyes, lets himself relax into Marcelo, who uses his free hand to run his fingers through James’ hair, pushing it away from his face. “Wanna go home already?”

“No. No, let’s stay like this a little.” James says.

“Ok.” Marcelo says, turning just enough to kiss the top of his head.

-

They pick up the habit of going to the beach at night, kick a football around in the sand like they’re 12 again, just the two of them. It’s James’ birthday, and he misses his family, misses his house and his mom’s food and the music and the streets. He can’t afford to fly home during the break, so Kaka bakes him a cake and everyone gathers in their small apartment.

Cristiano gives him an expensive shirt and it’s ridiculous, because he knows James will like it. Neymar gives him a book, calls him a fucking nerd and ruffles his hair. Danilo and Casemiro give him a joint present, because they’re _that_ kind of couple even though they’re not a couple at all, and given it’s the Mass Effect trilogy, is more of a present to all of them. It’s fine, it’s good, it lessens the ache in his chest.

Late at night, they’re all gone and it’s just him and Marcelo again.

“Get changed, let’s go to the beach.” Marcelo says, and James doesn’t ask him anything, just goes. They play for an hour, trying to nutmeg each other more than actually scoring between the flip-flops they use as goalkeeping bars. James has to admit Marcelo makes him look like a fool, but he wins 4x2, so Marcelo can’t really say anything.

“I got you something,” Marcelo says when they sit down, tired, toes digging into the sand. He throws James a bottle of water.

“Water? You shouldn’t have!” James laughs, but Marcelo smiles and hands him a bag.

“Don’t touch it with dirty hands, it’s very precious.” Marcelo says, and James bats his hands before opening it. It’s a Real Madrid jersey, a new one, and Marcelo is grinning at him from ear to ear.

“Do you like it?” He asks.

“I – Of course I like it,” James says incredulous, and carefully puts it back on the bag before throwing his arms around Marcelo’s neck. “Thank you so much.”

Marcelo smiles.

-

He puts the jersey back on Marcelo’s backpack, not wanting to get it dirty or stained, then strips down his own shirt and puts it there, too. He wants to go swimming. 

“Are you coming?” He asks Marcelo, who nods.

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

He can’t see, but he knows Marcelo’s eyes fixed on him as he makes his way to the water. The water feels refreshing, and he lets the salt wash away the sweat off his body. He’s looking up at the stars when he feels Marcelo behind him.

He turns around, and Marcelo has this soft smile on his face that makes his heart ache. He’s beautiful, James thinks, it feels like he discovers it again everyday. He’s the most beautiful person James knows, inside and outside and James is so stupidly, helplessly in love. 

“I think I need to do something stupid.” James says, and Marcelo laughs with his whole body. James feels warm inside.

“It’s your birthday, you’re allowed to.”

“Ok --” James sighs, and his hands are shaking the slightest bit. Ok then. He’s at a one-step distance from Marcelo, so it’s easy to close it, cup the back of his neck and bring him in, so close he can feel Marcelo’s breath hot against his lips. He stops, giving Marcelo an out, the option to push him away.

Marcelo, however, clicks into action and wraps an arm around his waist, presses James flush against his body; and then they meet in the middle, lips touching as well as every other part of them. He would’ve thought kissing Marcelo would be sweet, soft; but Marcelo’s kiss is devouring, it takes James’ control away and replaces it with want, and all he can do is open his mouth and let Marcelo’s tongue lick his way inside. He has one hand roaming along Marcelo’s bare chest, and fits the other into Marcelo’s hair, trying to bring him impossibly closer; and when Marcelo moans, James can feel the vibration against his lips.

“Fuck.” James says, because that’s really the only thought he can verbalize.

“That’s actually the smartest idea you’ve ever had. Trust me, I’m the smartest person you know.” Marcelo says, then licks away the salt water dripping from James’ jaw.

Around them, the sea envelops their bodies welcomingly. They kiss again. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s obviously not a surprise when Marcelo shoves him against their door as soon as they’re home, pinning his hips against the wood and kissing him again. Fuck, yes, this is really the smartest stupid thing he’s ever done. He hadn’t bothered putting on a shirt before they walked back home, and it seemed like a bad idea when the cold wind hit his skin, but not now. Now, Marcelo was crowding him against the door and he was hot all over, pulling at Marcelo’s shirt with impatience that earned him a chuckle. “Off.”

Marcelo obeys, and they’re chest to chest again. Marcelo mouths at his neck, licks and sucks at his pulse point, making James grind shamelessly against his leg. He indulges him, aligns their hips just the right angle that lets James rut his half hard cock in the inside of his thigh through the material of their shorts, and James groans because it’s good, so fucking good, but not enough. Marcelo kisses him again, bites at James’ bottom lip, slips both hands into his short until they’re cupping his ass, squeezing and making James snap his hips more intently.

“Fuck, bed, bed–” He manages to say, because if they don’t get to get he’s going to come right there, and as good as it felt, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He bites down hard, sucks a bruise on Marcelo’s shoulder; the shower they took after the beach got rid of the sand but did nothing for the salt still clinging to tanned, brown skin, and Marcelo smells better than he ever remembered. Eventually, they make it to Marcelo’s room, but not before he crowds James against the table.

“We should have table sex someday.” He says, and James pants, but looks at him baffled.

“Don’t– be gross,” He says, successfully managing a full sentence while Marcelo is licking at one of his nipples, tongue and teeth teasing on the edge of pain and pleasure. “We eat– here.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Marcelo says, giving the tender, sensitive skin a parting lick and dragging him by the hand and into his room, “There can be some eating out going on when we do.” James slaps his arm, blushing harder than ever, but doesn’t answer, not when Marcelo pushes him down on the bed, pulls at the thin material of his shorts and underwear all at once. 

He feels exposed and hot and cold at the same time, laid bare as Marcelo hovers over him, eyes him with a hungriness and reverence that makes James squirm. Then it’s his turn, and he takes off his own shorts and underwear, revealing his perfect skin adorned with lines and lines of ink, body strong and perfect; his cock thick and hard – he’s the hottest, most beautiful thing James has ever seen.

“Kiss me.” He says, because he can’t get enough, not yet, probably not ever. He wants to touch and feel and wrap himself around Marcelo, stay like that forever.

“God,” Marcelo says against his mouth as he lies down, fits his body between James’ legs. “Can’t believe I finally have you here,” James can’t believe it either, but Marcelo starts licking his way down his chest, tongue circling and lips sucking the skin of his stomach, so it feels real after all.

Marcelo, he realizes soon - or maybe too late -, is a teasing bastard. His lips purposefully miss James’s cock, resting against his stomach, already an angry, deep red at tip. The only sign he’ll get there soon being the hot air he blows against the sensitive skin. He smirks as James’ breath gets caught in his throat, chooses instead to nip at the smooth, silky skin of his inner thighs as James’ cock twitches, desperate with the promise of attention.

He finally – finally, makes his way up, nose teasing at the side of James’ length, inhaling his scent, a mix of sweat and sea; and then lips, grazing just so that James whines, and he’s not proud of if, no, but he doesn’t really care either. Marcelo licks a stripe from root to the tip, does it again for good measure. James shuts his eyes hard, scared to even breathe because he knows he’ll moan unashamedly instead.

“If you don’t stop teasing me like this I’m gonna end up coming in your face,” He pants out, every ounce of reservation already gone from him. Marcelo groans, then looks up at him with wonder and amazement that makes James want to both slap him and kiss him.

“You can come untouched?”

“I don’t know,” It’s his time to groan, but this time is out of frustration. “I don’t wanna find out.”

“Fuck, I do,” Marcelo laughs a little out of breath, but adds before James can get even more desperate. “Not tonight, though.”

Marcelo mouths the tip of his cock once, twice before taking the head into his mouth, sucking gently as his tongue swirls around. James throws his head back, a long, deep moan tearing its way out of his throat, and he’s completely at Marcelo’s mercy.

“Fuck, oh god,” He’s gripping hard at the sheets, using every last bit of his strength not to fuck up into the tight, silky heat of Marcelo’s mouth, the sight of Marcelo’s plump red lips stretched around his length too much for him to handle. He knows he’s going to come embarrassingly soon, and the fact that he hadn’t been with anyone since he moved in with Marcelo is only half the reason why. “You’re so – You have no idea, fuck,” He says, and he knows he’s not making any sense, but Marcelo hums and moans around him, and he grips at the curly dark hair for dear life, pulls hard; but Marcelo is stubborn, taking more and more of him, pumping what his mouth can’t reach with a hand.

“Fuck—Jesus, not like this, I want—not like this,” He mumbles, pulling at Marcelo’s hair again until he’s off his cock, and James represses the need to whine at the loss of heat. Marcelo’s pouting, like he was enjoying himself more than James.

“What, then?” His pout turns into a smirk, because he wants James to say it, he knows, wants him to ask for it.

“I want you,”

“I’m right here,” Marcelo kisses his thigh, his stomach, until he finally aligns their bodies, ruts their cocks together in a delicious friction, kisses the spot behind James’ ear. “Tell me what you want, I’ll do anything you want.” He whispers hotly into his ear, the lowest voice someone ever used with James.

“Fuck me,” He says, fighting past the blush he feels spreading all over him again. “Please, fuck me” Because he knows that’s what Marcelo wants to hear, and most importantly, that’s what he wants, they both want. And Marcelo said so himself, he’ll he anything he wants.

Marcelo spurs into action, going for the drawer at his bedside table, reaching blindly as he kisses James so hard it make his head dizzy. After what feels like ages, he fishes out a bottle of lube and a condom. Marcelo unwillingly puts distance between their bodies, and James is not fond of the idea either, but he knows he needs to do this right. He hears the sound of a bottle being uncapped, hears as Marcelo slicks up his fingers, but then he feels.

He spreads his legs further apart, letting Marcelo kneel in between. The older man tenderly kisses his knee, runs a hand soothingly up the back of his thigh, and then he’s there, circling a finger around his entrance, careful in a way that makes James impatient.

“Breathe,” Marcelo says.

“You’re making it hard to –“ He gaps, and feels as Marcelo dips the first finger inside, part the first knuckle, the second, slowly pulling the digit out and then moving it back in again. He repeats the movement a few more times, despite James showing no sign of being uncomfortable, slightly rolling his hips and moments away of begging for a second. He doesn’t need to, though, Marcelo reads him well enough to put a second finger in. This time the stretch burns, but mostly on the side of pleasure than pain. Marcelo moves his fingers inside, crooks and fucks lazily into him until he finds the spot he’s looking for, the one that has another loud groan falling shamelessly out of James’ lips, making his hips arch and fuck himself down on Marcelo’s fingers. He pulls out for only a second before adding a third, without warning and now practiced on where he needs to hit, even though he misses James’ prostate on purpose only to watch his hips stutter.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” Marcelo says, sounding out of breath even though James hasn’t even touched him properly yet.

“Fuck – Come, on, get to it, I can’t –“

“Fine, fine,” Marcelo chuckles, but his composure is on the brink of shattered. He reaches for the condom, but James slaps his hand, takes it himself. He pulls Marcelo in for a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue, blame it on the desperation.

“Lie down,” He whispers against Marcelo’s mouth.

“Yes, boss,” Marcelo grins, does as James says, clearly pleased with the display of command. James wastes no time straddling him, then finally does as he wants, wraps one hand around Marcelo’s cock. He watches as Marcelo bites his lower lip hard, closes his eyes at the first real attention he’s getting, fucks up into James’ hand. James rolls the condom down his length, slicks him up real good, his turn to make Marcelo moan helplessly.

James holds himself up and aligns them perfectly – Marcelo know he wants to do it himself, but that doesn’t mean he can’t touch him, so he runs his hands up his thighs as James reaches for his cock, guides it past his cheeks and into the ring of muscle. Marcelo grips his hips hard enough that he knows will leave finger shaped bruises tomorrow, groans deep in his throat as he feels the tip of his length sliding past the tight hole.

“Are you sure you’re –“ Marcelo tries to ask, still worried, but James’ patience is over.

“I’m ready, shut up,” He grits out, sinking down all at one, engulfing Marcelo’s cock into tight, so fucking tight heat.

“Oh my god,” Marcelo moans, stilling James’ hips with a tight grip, but he can’t tame the snap of the Colombian’s hips anymore as he lifts himself up and down again, fucking sounds out of the both of them, the room nothing more than labored breaths and moans and the slap of skin against skin.

James is torn between watching Marcelo fall apart as he rides him or throwing his head back himself as he fucks himself down desperately. Marcelo surges up then, sits up until they’re chest to chest, wraps his arms around James and finds a new, delicious angle that hits his spot mercilessly every time. He wraps both arms around Marcelo, tucks his head between Marcelo’s neck and shoulder, licks at his jaw as Marcelo holds him tight, stills him until he’s trapped, Marcelo’s all around him, and he lets the Brazilian rut against him instead of hard fucking, feels stretched and full and so good it hurts.

“Wanna come, baby?” Marcelo asks, breathing hard against his ear. James can only whine in response, holding on to him for dear life. “Come for me.” Marcelo reaches a hand down, only enough to wrap it around James, and it’s too much, the fat head of Marcelo’s cock rutting ruthlessly against his prostate and his grip too tight on James’ length, and he bites down on his shoulder as he comes, his climax hitting him in blinding waves. Marcelo doesn’t stop, only flips them over and keeps fucking him through his orgasm and past it, hard and fast, streaks of white come staining the dark skin of his stomach as he fucks James into oblivion, until he’s boneless and hypersensitive and all he can do is keep his eyes half-open and whimper. He kisses James, or tries to, brings one hand up to lace their fingers together; his hips fall off rhythm and he moans low in his throat as he comes, the Colombian wrapping his legs around him and keeping him there, warm and safe and his.

 

Later, after they’ve cleaned up – not thanks to James, who had preferred much more to kneel against the bathroom’s cold tiles and suck Marcelo off – Marcelo tucks him against his chest, nosing lazily at his hair and the back of his neck. “I can’t believe it took us so long to do this.” James mumbles against Marcelo’s arm he’s using as a pillow. He turns around, lies his head against Marcelo’s chest, who grins and looks at him through tired, half-shut eyes.

“Not my fault.”

“Whatever,” James laughs, then kisses him on the lips because he can, now. “It was my idea anyway.”

Marcelo doesn’t argue, just bring him closer and runs his fingers through his hair until they fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i mention is a two-part gift? i'm sorry this has mistakes. none of this is betaed and i suck.

**Author's Note:**

> a gift. you know who you are. happy birtday.


End file.
